


a world alone

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Headmaster Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25896181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: There is no absolution here, just the quiet acceptance from those who’d done or endorsed worse. It’s more than what most would give.Or: Five snapshots from Severus’ time as Headmaster.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy/Severus Snape
Comments: 16
Kudos: 73





	a world alone

**Author's Note:**

> _i know we’re not everlasting / we’re a train wreck waiting to happen_   
>  _one day the blood won’t flow so gladly_
> 
> **a world alone** , lorde.

**ONE.**

“Congratulations, Headmaster.”

Amycus Carrow’s hand is warm, clammy, his grip slack. His voice cracks like the fissure of fireworks; he can’t control his glee. It flashes in the depth of his eyes and burns bright in his mind, hot and viscid where it touches Severus’ consciousness. He forces his features into practiced apathy and shakes the offered hand.

“And you,” Severus says, voice smooth.

They have just been promoted: he to Headmaster, Amycus to Deputy along with his twisted sister. Severus knows their new title is little more than an afterthought. The Dark Lord has more bodies than he knows what to do with, their numbers reminiscent of the First War’s glory days. Amycus’ advancement is a matter of opportunity, not merit, and yet Amycus carries himself like a man of stature. Severus is aware already that this will not bode well. He knows the Carrows. More importantly, he’s seen their sadistic streak in play. A school full of susceptible students will be like a hunting ground.

He wishes, distantly, that the Dark Lord had picked a duo easier to handle.

Amycus moves on, Alecto trailing behind. Some of the others greet him, their congratulations smarmy sentiments with little sincerity. Severus accepts them as he’s expected to, slinking back into the shadows once he’s able, the Dark Lord’s most faithful filing out of their meeting spot and disappearing to fulfil their latest orders. 

It’s there, shadowed in the half-dark, where Lucius greets him. He walks a step behind Severus, body closer than what is couth. “Well done,” he says, voice lowered. His breath is warm where it rustles the ends of Severus’ hair, the heat dancing across the back of his neck. Severus doesn’t need Legilimency to recognise the resentment that lays dormant in Lucius’ tone; he has experience instead.

It’s not directed at him, he knows. It’s self-made: a bitterness caused by his fall from grace. Lucius, of all people, is unaccustomed to the ramifications of his new social status. Severus sees it in the reluctance that shadows his subordination, feels it when he dares dive into Lucius’ mind, his friend’s pride like a slowly disintegrating ward as it struggles with his new position.

Severus wishes he could tell him that he doesn’t want this, either.

**TWO.**

Minerva follows him to Albus’ office— _his_ office, now—and jams her foot in the door to stop him from shutting it. She glares at him, expression pinched and voice clipped; gone is his professor, his colleague, his friend. The only thing that remains is unadulterated hate.

“Murder wasn’t enough?” she spits. “You have to torture them, too?”

Something darker lies beneath the hatred. Vengeance, perhaps. Betrayal. Severus doesn’t risk the use of Legilimency; part of him thinks it’s better not to know.

He forces an air of indifference. His face is blank, his mind guarded. He’s been preparing for this, he thinks, had known it was coming from the moment Albus explained his plan. His former relationships with Hogwarts’ staff are nothing but necessary casualties in a sea of needless loss. He’d known it was inevitable.

(So why did it still hurt?)

“Are you questioning my methods, Minerva?” he asks. He does not have time to wallow in nostalgia, he thinks. There are more important things at hand.

Minerva splutters, incredulous. _“Questioning your met—”_ She shuts her mouth, lip curled and trembling with anger. “You—you _monster_ —you—”

“ _I_ ,” Severus starts, cold voice cutting through her fury, “am Headmaster of this school. I can – and _will_ – implement whatever disciplinary methods I see fit.” He draws his most intimidating pose. _Tries_ to. “You would do well to remember your place.”

Minerva doesn’t yield. He hadn’t thought she would. _“My place—”_

More anger follows, more bitterness, betrayal, vicious hostility. When she does leave, it’s with a slammed door and a string of obscenities, Severus forced to listen as he’s condemned to damnation. Even as whispers of agreement fill his head, he knows he’ll have to make an example of her later, that displays of insubordination cannot go unchecked. The thought alone makes bile burn in the back of his throat.

He wishes he could tell her the truth—some of it, any or all of it—but it’s not a risk he can afford to take. That is the reality of war, he thinks. He needs to make his peace with it.

In the silence, he turns toward the Headmaster’s desk and sees the end of a robe disappear from Dumbledore’s portrait, almost too quick to catch.

**THREE.**

“…and Severus, who’s strict regime has proved quite _effective.”_

Laughter follows the Dark Lord’s words, harsh and hollow as it reverberates in Malfoy Manor’s dining room. Draco, sat beside him, is the one of the few who don’t laugh. Instead, he sits with his back straight, his head bowed, hands in his lap and fingers locked together as the Dark Lord expresses how _happy_ he is with how Severus is running Hogwarts.

The praise is meaningless to him. If anything, he considers it confirmation that Albus’ plan is working. Even still, he doesn’t let the façade slip. He inclines his head, his gratitude murmured, eyes boring into the Dark Lord’s as if he were a man with nothing to hide. 

The others look at him as if he’s someone to be respected, the atrocities he’s committed tokens of his worth. Their eyes glean with interest, approval, envy: everything his younger self had thought he’d wanted. Now, their acceptance is almost sickening. He thinks he prefers the hatred.

He stares ahead, listening as the Dark Lord discusses their latest hostage: another student of his—the Lovegood girl this time, plucked from her return to Hogwarts as punishment for her father’s failings. Severus wonders if the aftertaste of guilt will ever leave his tongue.

Narcissa sits across from him. She catches his eye when he looks at her: the only Malfoy proud enough to hold their head high. There’s nothing there when he brushes the outer layers of her consciousness—she has learnt, he thinks, the dangers of expressing emotion, even in the private corners of your mind. Instead, her lips twitch with a calculated smile. Pity, perhaps. Or maybe forgiveness.

(She’d seen him after, pale face pallid with concern, her hand cold where it touched his cheek, his arm, his neck. She was there for her son, but Severus had been the one to draw attention; he still remembers the tremor of her voice as she’d called his name, her soft, cool timbre the accompanying melody to his soul’s annihilation.

She’s never called him Headmaster.)

As a scream echoes from the cellar, high-pitched and pained, Severus doubts forgiveness is still an option.

**FOUR.**

The castle echoes with its emptiness, its halls shadowed and cold, the Dark Lord’s reign tainting everything it touches. In the silence, Severus can hear his students’ chatter, their resigned whispers, evidence of their fear, their anger, their anguish.

In the silence, he can hear their screams.

_“Get your hands off m—”_

“Come now, pretty. It’s easier if you—”

Severus turns the corner just in time to see Ginny Weasley elbow Amycus in the stomach, expression twisted in a snarl as she rips herself free from his grasp. Amycus is quick to recover. He swallows the shock and straightens, reaching for her again.

Severus makes his presence known before he can catch her.

“Professor Carrow,” he calls, and they both turn in tandem. The fight halts mid-movement, the silence stretching. Severus shifts his gaze from Amycus to where Ginny stands, still furious. She doesn’t look away even as his eyes meet hers. “Care to explain?” 

Amycus stumbles into a story on missed detention and switches explanations half-way through, muttering on about backtalk and _order_ and how she had it coming. All the while, Ginny looks him in the eye like an open invitation, as if daring; Severus doesn’t have to dig deep to find the hatred that sits bottled in the outer barrier of her mind.

It’s the hint of betrayal that catches him off guard.

“Enough,” Severus says, and Carrow’s voice quiets in an instant. The Weasley girl continues to vibrate with her indignation. She’s built from fire, Severus thinks: He can see Lily’s reflection in her determination.

He tears his gaze away.

“Miss Weasley, report to your Head of House for punishment.”

It’s not what either of them expect, and Severus can hardly blame them. Minerva will take whatever opportunity she can to spit in the face of his authority; Ginny’s punishment will hardly be worthy of the name. 

Amycus looks at him, his glare poorly veiled with feigned respect. Severus can already tell what he’s thinking, can hear the question—the _accusation_ —that sits on his tongue. He prepares his lie as Ginny pushes past him, her _yes, Headmaster_ spat like an insult. Severus waits until her step has faded before he speaks again.

“She’s of pure-blood,” he starts. “It’s worth trying to reason…”

**FIVE.**

“He’ll be okay?”

Lucius’ breath reeks of whiskey. He stands close enough that Severus has to swallow against the stench, the memories it stirs. Gone is the proud pure-blood; what remains is a pathetic imitation, Lucius hunched down to Severus’ height. His eyes are wide, wanting, the delicate grey surrounded by blood-shot white. An uncharacteristic desperation crackles in his mind.

Severus nods. “He’ll be fine,” he says, as comforting as he can be. He can’t help but think, _at least it’s not a lie._

Beside them, Draco rests swallowed by a sea of blankets, his body trembling with aftershocks despite their best efforts. Narcissa lies at his side with a hand in his hair, her slender fingers trembling as she strokes the sweaty blonde strands: evidence of her own torture. The sight stirs an old protective instinct.

The Cruciatus Curse. Punishment for Potter’s escape. It’s as many details as he’s managed to gather.

Lucius wavers, unsteady. Aftershock or alcohol, Severus can’t tell. Fingers twist in his robe, Lucius’ hand clutching his arm to steady himself. His fingers tremble, twitch. He digs them into the wool of Severus’ sleeve and doesn’t let go. The sigh he lets slip is a broken thing.

 _“_ Why did he _lie_ ,” he says to himself. It’s almost spat, but Severus doesn’t think it’s anger that hardens his tone. It’s something else: frustration, confusion. Guilt.

Narcissa spares them a glance. “He was doing what he thought was right,” she says, and she, too, is trying to provide comfort. It’s all they seem to be these days: a cycle of attempted solace; stolen moments of respite. Severus knows it’s not something they’ll find with anyone else.

Lucius huffs in answer, but it sounds more like a pained wheeze. He sits on the end of the bed and drops his head into his hands. A quiet request for Severus to stay follows, Lucius unable to look at him as it’s uttered. 

Severus considers it. He knows, distantly, that he shouldn’t. That he has no time to indulge in escapism. He also knows what’s waiting for him: a castle he’d once considered home saturated with a hopelessness he’d helped create. He won’t be better for it—there will be no absolution here, he thinks, but there won’t be any additional blame, either.

That alone is incentive enough.

Severus sits beside Lucius without a word. The silence says more than any of them ever will. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was intended to be a angsty ship fic, but it turned out less shippy and more… whump? but whatever. i hope you liked it!
> 
> catch me at [tumblr](http://sistersblack.tumblr.com/) ❤︎


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